Before A Fall
by notanotherfanficauthor
Summary: William Birkin's self worth is precariously centred around his own academic superiority. So what happens when a ten year old girl steals his crown, and a reluctant Albert Wesker is forced to help pick up the pieces of his shattered ego?
1. Chapter 1

The Spencer Mansion. Never had a building been so aptly designed to resemble its namesake. It was all at once viciously secretive, and languidly ostentatious. It lacked subtlety in any shape or form, and yet somehow managed to keep its true nature concealed from everyone except those who were too deeply mired in its atrocities to be able to escape it and speak out. Entrenched in the bitter evergreen of the Arkley forest, it effortlessly mislead the senses into believing it was a relic,ancient and out of touch with the real world, and yet it harboured some of the most cutting edge instruments of destruction, a bitter fusion of old school amorality and blindingly modern science.

That had been the real genius of George Trevor's schematics. Not the traps, or the concealment, or the effortless integration of a high tech laboratory complex amidst sprawling neo-Victorian aesthetics. No, any architect worth his salt could have managed that. But Trevor had given the Spencer mansion something far more elusive than this. He had incorporated the essence of his employer, woven into every single pencil mark and detail on those blueprints, until the mansion was not simply a building owned by Oswell E Spencer, it was a testimony to his cruelty, a physical manifestation of its owner's personality.

Perhaps this was why it was almost impossible to walk through those ornate corridors, and observe that décor, which somehow managed to stop just short of being laughably tasteless and was, instead, simply vaguely sinister, without being able to shake the feeling that Spencer himself was looking over your shoulder.

At least, this had always been Albert Wesker's opinion. Bafflingly, his colleague William did not seem to share this guarded unease.

But then again, William Birkin was the very definition of "preoccupied". Obsessive and driven, the entirety of his self worth was inexorably tangled with his scientific achievements, to the neglect of all other things. Wesker was a naturally observant soul, and if there was one thing that shone through in William's personality as his most glaringly dangerous trait, it was this precarious superiority complex which was borne from the scientist's desperately possessive need to carve out his own place in the world.

William, from what Albert could gather, had never had much of a childhood. It is a sad but true fact that when a child shows signs of academic brilliance, this swiftly becomes the aspect of their personality by which they are forever defined. And Albert had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason William had made the transition from child to young adult with such relative ease was the fact that he had a reassuringly long list of outstanding achievements which were continually being added to his name.

Albert had also been a brilliant child, had effortlessly outranked each and every one of his peers, and had fully expected to be the youngest person in the room when, at the age of seventeen, he had first walked through the doors of the Umbrella Training Facility. But he had also been blessed with the maturity of foresight, and had reasoned that even so, one day he would meet someone whose aptitude for science outshone even his considerable abilities. He hadn't expected that day to come so soon, but William Birkin had been that person. But Albert Wesker had other talents to his name, and had other ambitions in life that went beyond simply churning out bioweapons. So he had accepted William's brilliant calmly, and thwarted numerous unsuccessful attempts at fostering rivalry and resentment between the two. And William for his part, had quickly realised that Wesker, while worthy of respect, posed no threat to his unparalleled title of youngest, smartest, and most outstanding researcher. And Spencer, cunning as he was, must have realised somewhere along the line that they made an excellent, if incongruous little team, and stopped trying to pit them against one another. _"Scholarly Will and practical Al." _It was a friendship with a certain sense of balance.

So far, so good, and four dysfunctional years later, William was an erratic, obsessive, unhealthy and mentally unstable nineteen year old with the world's worst intellectual superiority complex, and Albert was a slightly more well rounded twenty one year old with a taste for internal politics, manipulation, and a unique ability to keep his brilliant but unstable friend under some kind of control. Between the two of them, they were keeping productivity at a maximum, results were coming thick, fast, and continuous, and everyone was more or less satisfied. And if he sometimes felt like William's babysitter, then that was tough, because he knew that this was exactly the role Spencer had cast him in, and it was never, _ever_ a clever idea to question these things. Not if you wanted a future within the company. Hell, not if you wanted a future, full stop.

As Wesker hurriedly made his way past a group of gossiping lower level researchers, the latest issue of the company quarterly bulletin clutched a little too tightly in his hand, he thought about William, about how he had gone through his life moving from larger to larger ponds...school, university, the training facility, Arkley...and yet had still always been the biggest fish. His brilliance had never been challenged, and Albert really wouldn't have been surprised if he'd honestly believed himself to be the best in the world.

But William Birkin was about to learn a painful lesson in humility.

Little Miss Alexia Ashford, the granddaughter of Edward Ashford, one of the trio who had founded Umbrella. A young girl who had surprised everyone, not least her own inbred, aristocratic family, by graduating from a prestigious Parisien university, smashing all known precedents and taking a head researcher position within at the tender age of ten. It was lucky that William didn't watch the television, Albert thought with a bitter little smile. And if he was luckier still, perhaps he could break the news to William in his own tactful way, before someone else had the chance to. After all, Dr Birkin was far from a popular figure in the workplace, and people would be falling over themselves to see the look on his face at such an acute humiliation. Yes, just about all of Arkley had been waiting for the moment when young William would be taken down a peg or two, and if Wesker could possibly help it, he wouldn't let anyone have that satisfaction.

He entered the lab and studied his friend's face carefully, bracing himself for a tirade of hysterics. But none came.

_So far, so good._

"Albert?" William's gaunt features were creased into a puzzled frown, and not for the first time, Wesker found himself thinking that the teenager could do with some sleep, and a decent meal. But William always had a perpetually malnourished look to him, his skin sickly pale and sun-starved, his grey-blue eyes dark-rimmed and bloodshot. It was just how William normally looked, and it was only in moments like these, when he was actively contemplating his friend's wellfare, that he realised just how unhealthy he probably was. But then again, this was hardly the kind of career you picked if you wanted a long life and plenty of fat grandchildren. William was making history, and that was all that mattered to him.

"Hmmm?" Wesker replied as non-committally and nonchalantly as possible. If _he_ started to make a big deal out of this, then William was bound to lose it even more.

William cocked his head to one side inquisitively, and bit his lip in a residually childish gesture, shaking a sandy strand of hair out of his eyeline. "Why is everyone laughing at me today?"

_And here we go..._

"Maybe it's because you desperately need a haircut," Albert responded with what he hoped was good natured playfulness. Disarm him first, make the whole thing seem like it was really nothing.

William wrinkled his nose and ran a hair through his hair, which in addition to needing a trim, was also in dire need of a wash. Were those the same clothes he'd been wearing yesterday, and the day before? It was hard to tell with William, and it was hard to tell with Arkley in general. Days seemed to blend into one another with frightening vagueness. Sometimes it was easy to feel like you were getting cabin fever. "No, seriously, Albert."

"Look, it's nothing, ok?" Wesker's tone was a little more stern than he would have liked it to have been, as he put a hand on his friend's shoulder and sat him down. "Just some news from another branch of the company. It's nothing that's going to affect you, your position, or your work here."

"I don't understand. What's so funny?" William's voice was plaintive, and he reminded Albert, as he so often did, of the geeky kid that everyone picked on in school, the one who hid in the toilets at breaktime and took refuge in his books as a substitute for a social life. Everyone knows the type, who quickly and harshly discovers that he'll never be able to integrate himself socially, and so takes a kind of bizarre, massochistic pleasure in being an outcast, a tortured genius, but who secretly and wistfully watches the carefree and easy interactions of the other kids, longing for that elusive sense of inclusion even while telling himself that he is _above_ all of that.

Wesker took a deep breath, and sat down next to him. "Look," he said gently, and was once again thankful that he'd managed to get to William first, "It's really _nothing_ to concern yourself about, but you're going to hear eventually, so I might as well tell you. You know the Ashfords?"

A derisive little smirk appeared on William's face. "What about them? Dr Marcus says that those aristocratic parasites haven't produced anything useful in generations."

Albert forced a small smile at the comment, and shrugged. "Well, it turns out that Edward's granddaughter is actually something of a prodigy. I doubt she'll amount to much, and I'm sure it has a lot to do with her influential family, so you really shouldn't let it concern you, but she's been made head researcher over at the Antarctic facility. It's a big noise at the moment, but everyone will have forgotten about it in a few weeks."

The younger man visibly paled a little, something Wesker hadn't been entirely sure was possible, given his already corpse-like pallour. It was apparent that William was putting two and two together and coming up with what would undoubtedly be the single greatest blow his ego had ever taken. "How...old is she?" he asked hesitantly, with the air of a man who distinctly did not want to know the answer.

And this was it. The moment that William would be dragged into reality, kicking and screaming, at the realisation that he had, for the first time in his life, been one-upped on his very own turf.

"Ten."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"T...ten...?!" William's voice came out in a strangled gasp, as he stared blankly at Wesker. As brilliant as the young scientist might have been, for some reason his brain refused to wrap itself around this simple piece of news. This was one mathematical issue that his mind did not want to comprehend. "B..but that's..."

Impossible? Hadn't people said that when he'd made head researcher at the tender age of sixteen? _That_ had been an impossibility, an outstanding achievement and testimony to his brilliance. He remembered that day, standing in his room in front of the mirror, and testing out the title on his lips. "Dr Birkin," he'd told his reflection, pretending he was speaking to his new staff, "Head researcher." It had seemed so terrifying, delightfully surreal, more than he'd ever contemplated and yet exactly what he deserved.. He had set his sights on making the post by the age of twenty, and that in itself would have been an incredible accomplishment. But sixteen...no, that was, and _should have remained _unparalleled.

Wesker had often told him that his competitive streak was unhealthy, and it was true. He had an almost obsessive compulsive need to dominate the intellectual sphere of whatever company he found himself in. This was the reason why it was always Albert, and not William, who attended board meetings. The investors didn't like it when a teenage boy sneered at their ignorance and spoke down to them.

But then, not many people did have a great deal of fondness for William. And with good reason...he was a brat. Even Albert, his best and only friend, would have been hard pressed to defend him against _that_ allegation. He showed respect for only three people in the world. James Marcus, his mentor, he deferred to because he was well aware that Marcus had championed his rapid rise through the ranks of Umbrella, although that tentative hold that the older scientist had on his one-time protege had long since begun to wane. Spencer he was forced to respect, because he owned the company, and thus provided William with the means to advance his research. And of course, there was Wesker, a grudging admiration borne from his realisation that he needed _someone_ in his life to stop him from continually shooting himself in the foot, a symbiosis which had developed into what William would have called friendship. Birkin had never had a friend before, especially not one of his own age, and so with Albert he behaved like any other socially ostracised and affection starved child: he was wide-eyed, needy, possessive and would have been unbearably clingy had it not been for Wesker's stern insistence on numerous occasions that he "get a grip". Luckily then, for them both, that William's obsessive work ethic took precedence over his infrequent forays into the world of social interaction.

"Like I said, William.." Albert was talking, and he was probably saying something sensible, but William's hands were shaking violently and he was barely listening. "...it's probably her family name that's got her this far. Really, I'm sure she's nothing special."

He looked up at Wesker desperately, his bottom lip trembling. "It's not...it can't..." He took a deep breath and the word tore from his throat in a little gasp. "_How?_"

Wesker patted him on the shoulder before gently but firmly placing the day's data printouts in his hands. "Forget about it. Get on with your work."

He stared mutely down at the paper, covered with figures, and his face was utterly blank. Somehow, the experiments which had been going so smoothly just a few hours ago, now seemed completely useless. No...useless wasn't the word for it. They were mundane. Something any idiot could have set up, ran and analysed. _Fuck,_ he thought bitterly, the paper crumpling under his balled fist, _a child could have done this._ Literally.

"No..." William shook his head, and there was something slightly hysterical in the way his voice pitched, "Things aren't moving fast enough. We need to come up with a different tactic."

Even with his perpetually present sunglasses, Wesker's facial expression plainly revealed his chagrin at Birkin's reaction. "No. We've set out a schedule, it's been approved by the committee. Everyone is happy with your work, William. You don't need to change anything." Albert pried the papers from his white knuckled hands before he had the chance to tear them completely in his grip.

"But..." William felt a sudden rise of bile in his throat, and he looked at his colleague with the expression of a lost child, his face stricken with a kind of disoriented panic. "But this is ridiculous. We should have had this phase finished months ago. Just because those idiots on the board don't know the difference between a lab report and a sandwich, doesn't mean that we can just slack off. We have to...we have to..." he trailed off and got to his feet, his slightly-too-large labcoat flailing behind him as he began to pace the floor erratically.

Wesker pushed his shades a little more firmly up his nose, before folding his arms impassively. He sighed, but as usual, it was more of a gesture to catch William's attention, than a genuine loss of patience. "You're nothing if not predictable, William," he informed the teenager with an arch of an eyebrow. "But really, there's no need for this. What goes on in the South Pole has absolutely no bearing on our research here. And everyone knows that Ashford is just a name. Nothing will come of this girl, you'll see. It's more than likely she's a kid who's been thrust into this by her insane parents, trying to restore the family name. She'll probably crumble under the pressure within a couple of months." He shrugged in a deliberately nonchalant gesture. "The child is to be pitied, more than anything else. Her superiors are unknowingly setting her up to make a fool of herself."

"Isn't that what exactly everyone said about me?" Birkin countered. "That a sixteen year old could never handle the pressure of running his own lab? I'm not so naïve...I know that half the research staff were taking bets on how long it would be before I cracked up." He blinked rapidly, his eyes bleary and red.

And for a long moment there was an awkward silence between the two young men, as William churlishly refused to acknowledge, and Albert tactfully refused to bring up a valid, but uncomfortable point. That if it hadn't been for Wesker's level headed presence, William almost certainly _would_ have lost it under the pressure.

"There's a big difference between sixteen and ten," Wesker said eventually.

"Don't I fucking _know_ it!" William hissed back petulantly. "No wonder I'm a laughing stock."

"There's nothing funny about it." Albert chose his next words carefully. "The only reason that people are taking a schadenfreude delight in all of this is because your accomplishments make people feel threatened. If you're going to be at the top of your game, then you have to get used to people wanting to take a shot at you. They did exactly the same with me, until they realised it wasn't going to achieve anything. If you react..."

"It's not about _them_!" he spat back. "Do you honestly think I give a damn what those.._cretins_...think of me. I _know _that I'm above them."

"Then why do you care?"

And at that William was silent. Because there was a hundred and one reasons why he cared, and they all boiled down to the same thing. He'd lost, to a child, and to a girl, no less. And with this bitter taste of defeat, for the first time in his life, came a crippling self doubt in the one thing that he had always been so very sure of about himself.

Albert Wesker and William Birkin had always been monstrously arrogant, each in their own distinctive ways. Wesker was aloof, the faint suggestion of a sneer always lingering at his lips, and Birkin was volatile, vain and openly derisive of anyone he considered to be beneath him, but regardless of the manifestations, Wesker could understand William's need to be better than everyone else around him. Because it was a form of power, and as Marcus was so fond of extolling, power was life. It was the driving force behind just about everything in the world, whether people cared to admit it or not. If you had it, you were laughing, and if you didn't...well, you were fucked.

Although William had technically lost nothing, it was his _perceived_ loss that would make him choke, turn the whole thing into a self fulfilling prophecy.

He watched William sit and visibly twitch for a few minutes, before he grabbed his friend's arm abruptly and propelled him out of the room, away from the maddeningly white washed laboratory environment. There was a faintly sour smell coming from his friend's woefully unlaundered clothing, and Wesker could feel the way his bone was all too palpable in his grip.

"You need to take a break," he said calmly, as they reached the elevator. He gave his friend a light little shove as the doors parted, and pushed him inside. "Eat. Sleep. Stay away from the espresso machine and have a goddamn shower, for crying out loud. This won't seem like such a big deal once you've had a break and calmed down."

His eyes met William's bloodshot stare as the door closed on them, and it struck him how painfully lost his expression was, as he looked at Albert in mute confusion, as if he was only half aware of how he'd managed to end up in an elevator, when only a moment ago, he'd been sitting in his lab.

Wesker didn't loosen his hold on his arm until they'd reached the door to William's living quarters which usually qualified as a biohazard in themselves, if memory served.

"I'll finish up for today. I don't want to see you back at work until tomorrow morning, is that clear?" he told him firmly. William's red-rimmed eyes gazed up at him, impossibly wide and sunken, his expression utterly miserable and wholly petulant, and Wesker arched an eyebrow, waiting for a response in the affirmative. It eventually came in the form of a shaky nod, and he patted his friend stiffly on the arm, before making his way back down the corridor, a deep frown creasing his pale features.


End file.
